More Than You Know
by D Veleniet
Summary: "Honestly - if all I'd needed to do was get sprayed by a giant carnivorous plant, I would've done a long time ago." He froze, arms around her back. "I've taken your clothes off plenty of times," he muttered defensively. "Yeah, but...not like this." Sequel to "The Other Has My Heart."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters. They belong to the BBC and Steven Moffat. No infringement intended.

**Author's Note: **This is a sequel (in a series to come, once I figure out how to do that on ff) to a previous story I wrote called _The Other Has My Heart_. If you haven't read it, you may be okay for the first chapters but be slightly confused later (which will have references to events that occurred in the previous story.) Oh, and the rating will change, so be prepared. :-p

"More Than You Know" was a song re-released by Johnny Moore's Three Blazers in 1948 (originally sung by Billie Holliday).

_More than you know  
More than you know  
Girl of my heart, I love you so  
Lately I've found you on my mind  
More than you know  
_

* * *

You On My Mind

"How are they now?"

"The same."

"Right, but…you'll let me know if...if it gets worse?"

"I thought humans weren't supposed to be susceptible to it..."

He gripped her hand a bit more tightly, tugging it further down his arm as he pushed the TARDIS doors open. There was a moment of awkward maneouvring as he first tried to pull her behind him, then side-step them inside. She did her best to hobble with him over to the console (she'd refused the offer of a chair, as if to prove to him she was still okay), whilst he fiddled with the switches and hunted for something-or-other underneath. The sensation in her legs was starting to fade, like someone had pulled a plug at her ankle and all feeling was leaking out in a slow but steady trickle. She leaned on the console, careful not to mess with the settings. "What are you looking for?"

There was a general clattering and banging as she heard him throw things this way and that: not an unusual cacophony but for his frenetic pace. He mumbled a reply, then let out a muted exclamation, bounding back up to join her. "Found it!" he cried, holding up what looked like a clear, plastic circle rimmed in black rubber.

"What's that?"

"It's a mass spectrometer…sort of." He waved it over her skin, rubbing it on her hand, then flipping it and studying the strange green writing that started streaming across the back of it. "More science-y and spacey than that, of course, and obviously smaller, but…basically…" He trailed off as he stared, slack-jawed at the tiny lines of text on the screen.

She leaned towards him, folding her arms to brace herself against the console as her legs grew progressively number. "What?"

His shoulders tugged downwards as his visage became more and more crestfallen. "Oh no..."

"Doctor…"

He regarded her glumly. "It's a new species," he informed her, returning his attention to the screen. "Apparently they've…evolved."

"So what does that mean? Does it tell you which –"

All of a sudden her legs buckled, sending her sliding off the console and toppling to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

The Doctor was by her side immediately, hooking his arms under hers to raise her to a seated position. "You okay?" His hands roamed over her restlessly. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm all right." She leaned on him, trying to untangle her left leg from where it was folded beneath her, but nothing happened. "I just…" She tried again, to no avail. It was like her legs had disconnected from her brain, refusing to obey her signals. She moved back so she could use her hands to unfold her leg, shaking her head. "Um, my legs aren't…" She began, staring at him helplessly. "I can't feel them, they're just…it's like they're not there anymore."

The Doctor met her wide-eyed stare with one of his own. "It's okay." He shifted her arms so they clasped around his neck. "It's okay," he assured her again, carefully positioning one hand beneath her knees. "Do you think you can hold on?"

Clara squeezed her arms tight behind his neck, balling her fists so they didn't touch his jacket or skin. "Yeah, my arms are okay."

"Okay." He moved to a different position so he was ready to stand. "One…two…three." He lifted her up with a grunt, taking a moment to adjust his grip on her so he was holding her more tightly and carried her down the stairs into the corridor.

"Where are we going? The medical bay?"

"No. We're going to try to wash it off first."

"Oh, thank God – this feels so disgusting." She looked longingly at the spot her head usually went on his shoulder, but she didn't want to mess up his jacket. "Okay –then…if we wash it off, it'll go away? I mean – I'll return to normal, right?"

She felt him stiffen, even as he adjusted his hold on her so that he was holding her closer to him.

"Doctor –"

She stopped when she saw he'd paused just outside her door.

"How is my bedroom so close?" They usually spent most of their nights in his bedroom, as it was always the most convenient location. If she wished to retrieve any of her clothes or possessions, she still had to walk down at least three corridors. The Doctor had tried to explain away the TARDIS' childish behaviour as concern for her health: apparently she only wanted to make Clara exercise more.

"She's helping us – I asked her for the room with the bigger shower."

"She's _helping_? Didn't realise it was _that_ bad…" She tried for a laugh, but it died somewhere in her throat.

The muscles of his face worked like he was fighting against something sneaking in and taking residence there, but he didn't reply as he carried her into her spacious loo.

"Doctor…_love_!"

His eyes snapped to hers at the term of endearment she used so sparingly. He looked like he was just noticing her there, a sure sign that his brain was flying at a million miles a minute.

"Tell me what's going to happen to me."

He let her see the emotions on his face for a brief, staggering second: sorrow, confusion, helplessness. "I don't know," he admitted before replacing that thin veneer that shielded him in his most dire straits, displaying only steely determination. "We'll start by washing it off." He laid her gently on the shower stall floor, starting immediately on her boots which he tugged off without even unbuttoning them.

Clara followed suit, spurned by the Doctor's urgent movements and unzipped her jacket, shrugging out of it before balling and throwing it over the Doctor's shoulder onto the floor. "Hopefully alien plant spray comes out in the wash - I only got this jacket last month." Her attempt at levity fell flat in the absence of any of his usual comments about how she fussed too much over her clothes or even his blank stares that were half-man and half-alien at how she could think of things like that at a time like this.

He'd moved to her dress now, leaning her against him and pulling the zipper down without the least bit of fumbling. He hiked it to her waist, stopping at the tops of her thighs. "Um…can you…?"

"Oh – yeah." She huffed nervously again, placing her palms on the tiled floor and raising herself enough so he could lift her dress past her waist. She set herself down, raising her arms over her head so he could slide it up more easily, throwing it behind him.

"Guess I found the secret to get you to take my clothes off," she quipped, unable to prevent calling his attention to the bitter irony of the situation. "Honestly - if all I'd needed to do was get sprayed by a giant carnivorous plant, I would've done a long time ago."

He froze, arms around her back, hands poised over the clasp of her bra. "I've taken your clothes off plenty of times," he muttered defensively, undoing the hooks and slipping it off her arms before tossing it in the direction of the pile of clothes.

"Yeah, but…not like this."

He leaned her back against the wall and then stood up, stepping out of the shower so he could get to work on his own clothing. He shrugged out of his jacket, then made quick work of his waistcoat before stooping to fling off his boots and socks. He hesitated, hands back at his throat, then undid his bowtie and unbuttoned his shirt just enough to tug it over his head. "Not like what?"

"Like you can't wait to get me naked." She couldn't help the slight accusatory tone that crept into her voice. "And you can't wait to get naked with me," she finished quietly, casting her gaze down at the floor, the sound of his trousers hitting the ground like a mocking reply.

He moved back into the shower, stepping gingerly around her as he turned on the water, spraying them both. "Now? We have to do this now?"

Clara winced at the echo from not thirty minutes earlier, her jaw tightening.

It had been such a lovely start to the day, too…


	2. I'll String Along

**Author's Note: **Many thanks for all the reviews, follows and favorites, dear readers! I'm thrilled that there are people who are excited for a sequel. It was really meant to be a one-shot in a series of one-shots, but this got longer, so…hope you continue to enjoy! : )

_Whether you're right  
Whether you're wrong  
Girl of my heart, I'll string along  
I need you so  
More than you'll ever know  
_

* * *

"_Now_? You want to do this _now_?" He struggled in her grasp like she was attacking him. Which – well – perhaps wasn't _that_ far from the truth. But – eight days with no sex plus being alone with her husband on a beautiful wildlife refuge with no signs of wildlife for miles…well. Could anyone blame her?

"Why not?" She purred, stroking his lapels and letting her fingers trail up his neck. She pulled him into another kiss, tongue sweeping against his purposefully, letting out a self-satisfied giggle as he whimpered into her mouth. "It's not like we're going to disturb any animals…" She worked her hands under the collar of his jacket, fingers grasping the edges of it and pushing it down his shoulders.

He tensed then, arresting her progress. "Yes, but, but – _here_?" He spluttered, somehow managing to sound scandalised that his wife would want to have her way with him in a deserted meadow of poppy-like flowers, picturesque moss-covered rocks and giant, gnarled trees that provided ample shade.

"What's wrong, dear?" She rubbed her hands over his chest, writhing against him so he walked – or backed – to the trunk of one of said trees. "Afraid we'll make the flowers blush?" She murmured in his ear, darting her tongue out at his lobe and suckling on it, making him let out a little yelp.

"But –" He grabbed at her arms, pushing her back so he could disentangle himself. "We need to investigate first – find out what happened!"

She regarded him with an arched eyebrow. "To what?"

"The animals – the wildlife!" He moved past her towards the edge of the clearing, whipping out his sonic. "This is supposed to be one of the largest sanctuaries in the galaxy…" He swept it around him in an arc, then flicked it back, studying the readings. "Don't you want to know where the animals went?" He looked at her with that expectant smile like she would forget everything in favour of their next adventure.

But she only folded her arms. "Strangely enough – no. Not _exactly_ the first thing on my mind right now." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

He started waving his hands in that familiar fish-on-dry-land way. "But – we can do…_that_ later – after we get back to the TARDIS. Or – here, if you, if – if you really want to. After we solve the mystery of the animals' disappearance." He gave her a hopeful little smile.

She didn't return it. "Right. After we solve the mystery. Which will probably mean running around, getting chased by things, getting covered in something so that by the time we get back to the TARDIS we're exhausted, we take separate showers – like we _always_ do – and collapse into bed, asleep before our heads hit the pillow."

He wrung his hands. "I suppose I don't understand what the hurry is."

"Hurry?" She scoffed. "It's been _eight days_."

"Eight days?" His thumbs moved rapidly over his fingers. "Um…is that a long time?"

Clara took a steadying breath. "No." She shook her head. "No, it's not – if you've been married several decades or – several years, even. Or maybe, I dunno, you're newly married, but you've got completely separate schedules, can't see each other very often. Or maybe it's cause you've got a baby or kids, and they keep you busy all the time, so you have to put them first and you're too tired at the end of the day."

"Ah…" The Doctor scratched at his temple. "But – we've only been married a few months, and…well, we spend a lot of time together, and obviously don't have kids..."

Clara just looked at him.

"So…that means that yes, eight days is a long time. Okay – well…noted." He dug in his pocket for his sonic again, starting to move further from the clearing.

Clara huffed. "That's it, then?"

He turned back, mouth moving as if to find the right words. "Umm…oh! Right. No! No, no, no – of course not." He walked back towards her with purpose, stopping in front of her an arm's length away. "How long would you prefer?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Well – you said eight days was too long – that's what we're talking about, so I assume that means you want it to be shorter, yes?"

She wrinkled her brow, trying to sort through that gobsmacked feeling that sometimes crept up on her when she tried to talk to him. "Yeah, but –"

"Okay, then – so what's an acceptable length of time?" There was a hint of impatience to his tone.

She gawped at him. "I don't know – that's not…" Letting out an exasperated sigh, she pushed past him into the edge of the clearing, lined with mossy rocks. She focused on them, repeating the mantra to herself that always soothed her frayed nerves in these situations.

_I'm married to an alien. I'm married to an alien. I'm married to an alien – who is also a daft, old man._

She turned back as she heard him approach her, looking him calmly in the face. "That's not what I'm talking about, Doctor."

Now it was his turn to get irritated, hands balling into fists as he may well have repeated a similar mantra to himself. "Okay. Then what _are_ you talking about?"

"I feel like…" She trailed off as she raised her hands, as though she could grasp what she was feeling, the better to articulate it. "I feel like – you don't want me," she finished.

"What?" He regarded her like she'd just sprouted three heads. "No, sorry – _what_?"

Flustered, she started gesticulating, too. "I'm not saying that – you don't enjoy it – I know you do. But…I dunno, I feel like – it's always my idea."

The Doctor let out a long scoff. "Always your idea?"

"Well, yeah." She made a frustrated gesture towards the location of their erstwhile aborted shagging attempt.

"This is different! We have – we have things to investigate!"

"Okay, fine - name me _one _time when you've ever started it. When you've ever initiated anything." She folded her arms.

The Doctor opened his mouth to answer, two confident fingers raised to the sky to contradict her. Then he paused, mouth slowly closing. "Well…I can't think of any at the moment, but –"

"That's cause you never have, Doctor." She shook her head, sighing. "You told me that whenever I was in the room, it was on your mind – that all I'd need to do was find it. But I don't feel that way."

"Feel what way?" He crossed his own arms defensively.

"That you…can't _wait_ to get me alone so you can tear my clothes off – cause you can't wait to see what's underneath. And you can't wait to…_be_ with me in that way." She moved away from him again, needing to find the right words. "Like – I dunno….you're already bored of me."

"_Bored_?! You think I'm _bored_?" It was his turn to look gobsmacked. "You! My impossible girl – who constantly keeps me guessing, who keeps me on my toes - where I _never_ know what you're going to do next, and if this conversation is any indication –"

"I'm not talking about the things I do or say, I'm talking about…" She indicated her torso. " – _me_. My body. That you don't want…my body. Or it just – I don't know - it doesn't excite you anymore." She sighed, sitting down on one of the rocks, finding it surprisingly soft as her weight sunk into it.

Just then she was sprayed with something, making her let out a little shriek as her hands instinctually raised to shield her eyes. Jumping up from the rock, she took a step backwards. "What was that?" She studied her hands and arms, which were now covered in a thin sheen of slightly sticky substance that made her skin tingle.

"I don't know." There was a moment where he looked torn between enthusiastically investigating and checking on her. "Are you all right?" He peered at her, slight indentation in his forehead.

"Yeah, I think so." She tried to wipe at her face, but the skin-to-skin contact only seemed to make the substance stickier, so she had to exert more force to disengage her hand from her cheek. "Eugh." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Well, definitely going to need that shower now, yeah." The Doctor didn't reply as he had moved towards the rocks, sonic in hand. "Doctor!"

"It's okay – I'm maintaining a safe distance." He backed away, eyes widening as he studied the readings. "Oh, dear…" He murmured softly, suddenly swinging it around the meadow, his expression increasingly morose, until finally his gaze fell on her. He swallowed. "I think I know what happened to the animals." There were no traces of enthusiasm or glee now.

"What?"

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenching and unclenching. "There are strict rules about visiting here – no one who's worked with certain types of plants is permitted access without undergoing a decontamination process. But – someone must have slipped through unnoticed with Ruxxwashi spores on them. Those things that look like rocks are carnivorous plants."

"Oh." Clara backed a few more steps from them, eyeing them fearfully. "Do Ruxxwashi stay in the ground, or do we need to run cause they're about to chase us?"

"No, no - they can't move. Usually they spray the organism enough to disorientate or paralyse it so it falls somewhere nearby, and then once it's close enough, they secrete a second substance which stops all the organism's bodily functions. They digest it as it's dying, absorbing the leftover organic material." He shook his head, his lips a thin line. "But they're pests. They'll take over any environmental system if left untended because they multiply so quickly. Certain species anyway."

"Paralyse?" She squeaked in alarm.

"You'll be fine," he assured her, turning to her and squeezing her shoulders. "You might feel a tingling or a stinging sensation, perhaps a bit disorientated - but animals are far more susceptible than humans." He trailed his hands down her shoulders – or, at least - tried to, his hands sticking to her jacket. "Oh." He frowned, clearly meeting with resistance as he tried to remove his palms from her jacket.

"Don't get it on you, too! Can't have both of us disorientated and tingly." Though a small part of her mind couldn't help wandering to fun ways that might play out, it was also keenly clued into the danger of staying in the meadow.

"It only affects you if it comes directly from the plant; secondary contact isn't a problem, but…" He extracted a handkerchief and wiped his hand, examining the substance.

"What is it?"

He was getting that blank look that signaled his brain was starting to process things at its usual inhuman speed. "Must be a different species – the spray isn't supposed to be sticky." He regarded her a moment, a flicker of fear darting across his face before disappearing. "We need to get back to the TARDIS so I can figure out which one." There was a tightness to his tone that wasn't there before.

"Yeah," Clara agreed, grimacing as she held out her hands. "And so I can shower."

They started trekking back to the TARDIS in silence, Clara's mind returning to their earlier conversation as they retreated from the peril in the meadow. She wondered if the Universe was laughing at her: as if she needed _another_ reason to feel undesirable.

Yet perhaps he'd been about to contradict her earlier insistence regarding her feelings of undesirability, before they were so rudely interrupted by a hungry plant. Mulling over possible ways to bring it up, she tried a gentle, humourous return to their conversation. "Maybe the Ruxxwashi has good timing."

The Doctor stopped short, his face that tell-tale blank. "What?"

Smirking at him, she shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. "Well…think about it. Me - tingly and disorientated – I'm almost a proper damsel in distress." She gave him her widest, most innocent eyes. "Who knows? Maybe I won't be able to find the shower on my own, and _you'll _have to be the one who washes me up..." Letting the innocent act dissolve, she gave him her most alluring smile.

Though a tremor rippled across his face, it was otherwise as still as marble. He looked ready to say something, then averted his gaze. "Let's just get back."

Clara glared woundedly at his back, scuffing a self-conscious foot at being so coolly rebuffed. Which was…

Frowning, she glanced down at it. It looked perfectly normal, though there was a faint reflective shine on her leg above her boot from the plant substance. Why would she think there was something wrong with her foot?

"Hey!" She called to him, stamping her feet again – or…

Peering down at her feet, she raised one experimentally and then the other. She stomped on the ground, then jumped up and down, landing heavily.

"What's wrong?" He appeared again, frowning at her odd behaviour.

"My feet," she replied, bouncing to emphasise her point. "Doctor…I can't feel my feet."


	3. Oh, How I'd Cry

**Author's Note: **Just a quick note to say thank you again for all the reviews, favorites and follows - you guys ROCK! :) Also to remind you that the rating will change soon. Enjoy! :)

_Oh, how I'd cry_  
_ How I'd sigh_  
_ If you got tired and said goodbye_  
_ More than I show_  
_ More than you'll ever know_

* * *

The water was warm – he'd apparently seen to that (or the TARDIS was being _extra_ cooperative) – so she could not have attributed the chill in the air to the water.

"Um…which is the uh, soap?" The Doctor asked from above, uncertain hands passing over the array of her bath products in the hanging basket.

"The purple bottle. And use the – sponge thingy. It's a gel." She didn't mention that she was still in her underwear or remark how he'd retained his. He would probably say something she didn't want to hear.

Apparently he _could_ wait to get her naked after all.

He was efficient, almost clinical, as he passed the sponge in concentric circles down her neck, making lines along her collarbone, rubbing it detachedly over her breasts, down her stomach, then back up along each arm, fingers massaging the gel into her arms and hands. He spent the most time on the areas that had been sprayed directly, but Clara could only feel the warmth and wet of the water, the pressure of his fingers and the sponge now too light to register.

He moved to her legs, starting at the feet and working his way up, again taking more time on the stickier areas, expression never wavering from that mask of grim determination.

The only change she could see when he reached her upper thighs was a brief flash of discomfort, making her eyes sting at how he somehow managed to add insult to injury. "Um…" His thumbs strayed over the elastic of her underwear, but shied from hooking underneath. "Could you…?" He glanced up at her sheepishly.

She nodded, though she kept her gaze trained downwards so he would not see the pained expression on her face. She tried to shift so she could brace herself to remove her underwear, but her arms felt heavy, weighted down to the floor. "Um…" Eyeing them as though they'd betrayed her, she sent screaming signals that went unheeded. Horrified, she discovered the same was true for the rest of her upper torso as she tried to move her shoulders, her back, her hips, all in vain. "I can't…" She choked, meeting his eye, panicked. She shook her head, biting her lip. "I can't feel them anymore - I can't feel anything below my neck. I…I can't _move_."

His visage cracked for a moment, lips parting, eyes widening, Adam's apple bobbing. Then he stood up, removing his own underwear and throwing it behind him. "It's okay." His voice was gentle as he joined her on the floor, scooping her up and settling her in his lap, one arm tight around her shoulders whilst he lifted her, sliding off her underwear. "It's okay," he repeated, over and over as though mere repetition would make it so. Returning to his scrubbing, he cradled her to him, rocking her like he was comforting a frightened child.

Though the motion was soothing, she slowly found it was rather unnecessary: emotions were beginning to mute and fade, like someone was turning a dial down. She just didn't…_care _anymore_, _and it was pleasant. Welcome, even, to feel that numbness settling over her like a blanket. No anger, no resentment, no pain. So she nestled into his shoulder instead, momentarily forgetting about the sticky substance on her cheek.

"Oh!" He brought both hands up to her face. "We need to do your face, don't we?" His thumbs stroked at her cheeks, his eyes soft. He raised the sponge, but Clara had just enough muscle control left to shrink from it.

"Not…that. I've got – a face…thing. The green…" She searched for the word. It was a container. It held things. It had a top where stuff came out. You could close it. What _was_ that word?

"Bottle, Clara – the green bottle?" He'd already retrieved it, and was anxiously rubbing his hands together to lather them up.

"Yeah, thassit." She looked up at him, noticing the alarm on his face. "You look really scared," she said dreamily.

His forced smile did nothing to erase the abject terror in his eyes. Tenderly, he administered to her, his motions slightly frenzied as he caressed her cheeks, her chin, her temples, her forehead, and she marveled at how relaxing his touch was. Her eyes fluttered shut, the pressure increasingly lighter until it disappeared completely.

"Clara?"

She could hear him, yes, but…everything was so wonderfully _nothing_. So dark and soft and warm, even though there was no dark or soft or warm. She would've smiled if her lips could move. No touch, no taste, no smell, no sight. All that remained was the sound of the water and his unsteady breathing.

"Clara. Clara! _Clara_!"

There was some displacement of air, like her head was being moved.

"No. _No. _Nononononono. _Stay _with me, darling…"

More displacement of air, the sound closer.

"Stay with me, _please_…please, _no…_" A shaking, wet hiccupping sound.

"No…no…my love…_please…_" The sound was losing its volume, swirling down the drain…

Then the scene changed. All of a sudden, she was hiding behind the entrance to the console room, dressing gown clutched loosely around her. Or…no – she could _see_ herself. Standing there, shifting from one anxious foot to another, wobbling slightly in her three-inch heels.

"Doctor?" She peeked around the edge, sizing up the room. No Doctor in sight, but there was a hiss and a crackle sounding from below. She watched herself tiptoe down the first set of stairs, stooping to look over the railing. "Doctor?"

"Yes, I'm –" _Crack!_ "_I know! I'll get to it, I promise!_ – down here!"

Why was she seeing this? It was like she was watching a movie of one of her memories, the borders of the picture fuzzy. She tried to make a sound, but couldn't really _feel_ anything, so she wasn't sure that she had a body or that it had a mouth to make any sound.

"Are we going to explode?" Nervous fingers moved over the railing, eyes suddenly directed overhead. Oh right, she'd had that thought about whether the TARDIS would interfere with her plan…

"Not at the moment, no." He let out a sigh, perhaps of relief.

Her fingers played with the ends of the dressing gown sash. "In the next five minutes?"

"No, no! Well…at least, I don't think so."

"In the next hour?" She thought her voice had shaken at the time, but she actually sounded confident.

A muffled noise of insult sounded from below. "You know, I have piloted this ship for over 900 years – I do sort of actually know what I'm –" _Hiss!_ "_Okay, okay! Yes, dear – I'll fix that_!"

"You realise you can't call both of us dear, right? One of us might get jealous…" Ah, she was stalling.

There was a pause. "Is there a reason you're talking to me from up there?"

"No, I…" She twisted the loops around her fingers, unthreading the sash. Now she looked properly scared. Taking a breath, she let the dressing gown fall, pooling at her feet. She shivered, though she didn't remember being cold. Setting her shoulders back, she walked down the stairs, the view shifting to follow the action. Stopping at the bottom, she waited for him to look up, teeth nervously worrying her bottom lip.

He didn't look up for several seconds, but when he did, he did a double-take, sonic clattering to the floor, mouth falling open. He gawked, fingers clasping and unclasping as though they could make the sonic magically fly up into his grip. "You're not wearing any clothes," he informed her as though she wasn't aware of this.

"Noticed that, did you?" She leaned casually on the railing, her confident pose quite effectively masking her racing pulse.

At least he wasn't covering his eyes. Though he was being maddeningly respectful of looking only above her chest after the first few seconds. "Did something happen to them?" He sounded genuinely worried.

"Yeah. I took them off."

"Oh." He paused, his fidgeting starting. "And didn't put them back on."

"That was the idea, yeah." She raised her eyebrows, a corner of her mouth quirked. "Any thoughts about that?"

"About your being naked?"

"Yeah."

"Well…yes." At least he didn't look sheepish about that, though he did swallow rather audibly.

"Okay…" She said slowly, drawing the word out as she sauntered towards him, hips swaying slightly. "So then here's what I want you to do. I want you to _focus_ on the thoughts that involve me being naked and push all the other ones to the side."

"Okay," he croaked, thumbs sweeping over his fingers.

She was almost in his space, but she stopped, hands on her hips, head tilted. Clara couldn't believe how _in control_ she looked, how poised and in charge. "Then," she what – commanded? Ordered? Her voice rang so clear without the slightest betrayal of the frantic flapping of butterflies in her stomach. "I want you to eliminate any thoughts that don't also involve your being naked, too. Can you do that?"

His head bobbed rapidly up and down. "Yes."

"How many thoughts are left?"

"Twenty-three." He answered like a little boy trying to impress his teacher.

She raised her eyebrows, clearly pleased. "Okay." Raising a hand, she used the leverage of a hold on one edge of his waistcoat to slide into his space, keeping it as their only contact. "Now I want you to eliminate any thoughts that don't involve something we can do in the next five minutes and any that involve traveling somewhere outside the TARDIS."

"Oh." He looked like he was calculating. "In that case – nineteen – well…define traveling?"

"We don't go past those doors." She motioned with her head.

"Okay, then…eighteen," he conceded, sounding vaguely disappointed.

"Now…" She placed her other hand on his waistcoat, her thumbs stroking at the v in between. Her voice dropped to its sultriest. "I want you to eliminate any of those thoughts that involve talking."

The corners of his mouth turned up, his expression changing. "Fifteen."

"Okay…" She lowered her eyes, letting them raise slowly to his. "Now pick one…" Then she leaned into him, her mouth next to his ear. "…and _show_ me." Pushing herself away from him, she backed up a few steps, hands dropping to her sides. She waited.

He stared at her, smirk edging towards a leer as his eyes traveled down her body, the wheels visibly turning in his head. By the time he met her gaze again, there was only heat and purpose behind it. Wiping his hands on a rag, he swaggered over to her, never breaking eye contact. Then he threw the rag down and scooped her up in one swift motion, her strappy heels clicking together. She let out a little gasp, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

"Which one are you going to show me?" She asked breathlessly.

His eyes sparkled, smirk widening into a wicked grin. "Eleven."

Humming her approval, her fingers played with his collar. "That just happens to be my favourite number."

Dipping his head down, his lips caught hers in a searing kiss. "I know," he practically growled.

Clara's lips still felt that kiss, though…she had no mouth, so _how_ could she be feeling…?

The scene was fading, like the director had decided to end it there, the only sounds his footsteps and her giggles as he climbed out of the frame. But the sensation wasn't going away, this feeling like she had a mouth and there was something…something…

A whisper of something.

A…tendril of sensation, ghosting across her face. Her _face_?

But yes, there was something at her mouth. And, very slowly, she moved it – she found she _could_ move it, seeking out further sensation.

"Clara?"

The sensation went away, and she mustered a very faint whine in response.

"Clara?"

Now there was another sensation, the vague feel of something about her head, and with each passing second, the grip grew tighter and tighter. There were thumbs digging into her cheeks, which were also now frantically sweeping under her eyes.

"Darling? Darling, can you hear me?"

Little by little, feeling returned to her face, ending with her eyes. She finally had control of her eyes and she opened them, her world flooded with misty green.

The Doctor exhaled on something between a sigh and a sob, his breath a welcome warmth across her face. "Hello, my love," he whispered hoarsely.


	4. I Need You So

**Author's Note: **Oh, look – the rating changed. ;) Just one more chapter after this and then an epilogue to wrap it all up. Thank you again to those who have reviewed, favorited and followed! : )

_Whether you're right  
Whether you're wrong  
Girl of my heart, I'll string along  
I need you so  
More than you'll ever know_

* * *

As in every marriage, there were some unspoken rules regarding topics that were off-limits for discussion.

The more mundane "don't leave the toilet seat up" didn't factor into their less-than-conventional arrangement, and, well, the Doctor could never complain that she took too much time to get ready before they went somewhere since having a time machine negated tardiness completely (and she could always conveniently blame the TARDIS when it did happen). And obviously there were no conflicts over finances, as there was no precedent for a joint checking account that covered all of time and space. Instead, what fell into their "we don't talk about this" category was, surprisingly, the events that had brought them together in the first place. Or, as they simply referred to it – anything that happened "in New York."

Of course certain aspects would come up now and then, but it was mostly harmless bits of conversation like _remember when you made me breakfast in New York – can you actually cook like that? _and that time he had picked her an impromptu bouquet of peonies (well, the alien flowers that had reminded her of them in the first place anyway.) Yet referring to anything else that had happened during that time he was human quickly became one of those taboo topics. It only took a few times for her to notice how he winced at the name _John_ or how his jaw tightened at the mention of _human_, a shadow passing over his face. She attributed such sensitivity to the reminder of all the things he couldn't give her now that he was restored to his Time Lord self. Like constant declarations (and demonstrations) of his utter adoration and love for her, things that came as naturally to his human counterpart as breathing. Things that she learned had been unique to John. The Doctor had told her he preferred to show, not tell – and at the beginning, it was enough. Yet as time passed, it became easier to avoid all mention of John Smith...though perhaps because her thoughts of him were accompanied by a soul-crushing guilt.

Yet, still hazy from her trip down memory lane, body weak, she couldn't help her automatic reply to a term of endearment she never thought she'd hear again. "You haven't called me that since you were John," she murmured, finding her tongue and throat rough and thick like she hadn't used them in years.

But if it cut him to hear her mention his former human self, he didn't show it for he only smiled, even letting out something resembling a laugh. "No…at least not in English."

Ah yes – the trade-off. The Doctor didn't avoid declarations altogether, of course: he just used a language she hadn't spoken in a thousand years. She tilted her head at him. "I think you keep forgetting how rusty my Gallifreyan is."

He chuckled properly then, laying a soft kiss on her forehead. "Oh, my impossible girl." Gazing at her with unbridled joy, he trailed his hands down her arms, rubbing them lightly. "How are you feeling?"

She smirked. "Guess that's the burning question, yeah?" Sensation was trickling back in, and she shivered. "Um – I think I'm cold."

He rubbed her shoulders earnestly, laughing like she couldn't have possibly said anything more wonderful. "You're cold!" He hastily reached over and shut off the water. "You've been under this water for ages – of course you're cold. Let me find a towel so we can get you dried off." Grasping her face, he pressed a fervent kiss to her lips, before bounding up and out of the stall, leaving a trail of water on the floor. She watched the resulting steam as the TARDIS evaporated the water, some of it wafting into the stall. Warm clouds enveloped her, and a smile tugged at her lips as she was finally able to raise her fingertips, letting the puffs warm them.

"Well hello," she said softly. "Thought you'd be in a strop."

If a cloud could hesitate or equivocate, this one certainly seemed to, darting away for a second before creeping back like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"Yeah," she agreed. "That's what I thought."

The Doctor reappeared with towel in hand, and she used the opportunity to give him a little wave, smiling at him. "Got my fingers back."

He beamed at her, crouching down and wrapping the towel around her. "There we go. Is that better, darling?" He started drying her off.

"I wasn't serious, you know."

"Hmm?"

She was able to nudge his arm with her fingers, halting his progress. "About the damsel in distress bit. I mean, I didn't actually want…" She shook her head, the end of the sentence too much to contemplate - let alone say.

His expression turned grave, his lips scrunching together. "I know." Tucking the towel underneath her legs, he shifted positions so he could lift her. "How are your arms – can you hold on yet?"

"Lemme try." She stared at them, sending loud signals to raise. They lifted a little, but it was like they were straining against invisible shackles. Her legs wouldn't even budge, though they were starting to cramp from her awkward position. "Not yet."

"Okay – that's okay, I've got you." Encircling her waist, he heaved her up again, careful not to slip on the wet tile. Carrying her out of the loo, he laid her gently on the bed, then scrambled to wedge himself behind her so he could pull her up into his arms. He went still, pressing her into his chest, his nose buried in her hair, the only sound his breathing and the occasional wet popping when he kissed her head, her neck, her shoulder, her ear. His hands didn't stray, his grasp iron-clad like he'd never let her go.

Clara could feel the tension in the near-desperate way he gripped her, or in the little sighs he made now and then. It was a tension that needed addressing, but instead she focused on the wondrous feeling of sensation returning to her limbs: delightfully wiggling her toes, experimentally tapping her fingers, then running her fingertips over his hands. She finally extended one of her arms, letting out a triumphant exclamation until she saw the state of it.

"Eugh!"

"What's wrong?"

Clara gaped at the angry, red spots all over, which only intensified as she saw that her legs were splattered with the same spots, too. A quick investigation of her chest, her stomach and her other arm confirmed that she was a walking, angry rash. She threw back her head and let out a strangled noise that was part groan and part defeated sigh. "Guess I couldn't just return to normal, could I? Not without a – souvenir."

The Doctor peered over her shoulder. "Oh…" His voice went up in an odd way.

"Yeah, I know. How sexy is this?" Her laugh was forced.

"Hmm…" His voice rumbled against her back. "Well, let's see…" He shifted from behind her, laying her back against the pillows before crawling to kneel next to her legs. Spreading his hands over them, he let out another throaty "ohh." Then, he bent down and quite unexpectedly started kissing them with impressive fervor.

"Um…" Clara was flummoxed. "Is this a…good thing then?"

"It's a reaction," he murmured between kisses, "It only happens if the toxin has reached your skin – if it's been excreted through your pores." He started kissing up her legs, then stopped to look at her, lips wet, eyes sparkling. "It means it's gone. It's left your body completely."

She smiled tentatively, the tension from earlier reasserting itself. "Then it is good. That's – good."

There was a gleam in his eye as he moved up her body, kisses becoming softer, slower. "Healthy…beautiful…alive body." He paused, elbows braced on either side of her shoulders, whilst his fingertips circled her cheeks.

"They're on my face, too, aren't they?" She grimaced.

"Yes." His voice had dropped into that spine-tingling register. "And you…" Dark pupils swept over her face before burning into her eyes. "- have _never_ looked sexier…" Then he captured her lips with his, tongue darting out immediately and brushing against hers, and she gasped into his mouth at the unexpected passion of it. Her now weightless arms twined round his neck, pulling him into her, and he grasped her head as though he could meld with her mouth. His teeth nibbled at her bottom lip, then he dipped lower, leaving a trail of sloppy, wet kisses along the length of her neck, her collarbone and down to her breasts.

It was like he was intent on devouring every inch of her: biting and suckling and teasing the mounds of her breasts, tongue flicking and worrying her nipples, a swirl of kisses and love bites over her stomach, around each hip, down her legs. Even her toes received attention, as he took each one into his mouth, tracing the outline between them with his tongue. The soles of her feet received feathery kisses from her heel to her instep, making her lips curl into a smile at the ticklish sensation. He seemed to notice as he trailed a purposely light finger, making her writhe in his grasp, a trill of protests mixed with giggles spilling from her lips. He smirked devilishly at her. Then he extended another finger, letting the two alternate grazing along her instep.

She threw back her head and squealed with laughter as she tried to wrench her foot away, fists pounding the bed.

"Do you feel that?"

The gravelly timbre of his voice was enough to make her raise her head, laughter dying at the scorching heat in his eyes. She nodded, mesmerised. "Yeah."

The moment hung suspended, air crackling with electricity as they stared at each other, all the previous sources of tension building and winding around them, to become either a barrier between them or an unwound spring poised to snap them together.

Then he attacked, lunging for her, his mouth clashing against hers faster than she could blink. He tugged forcefully at the towel, throwing it off to the side, and she sighed into his mouth at the wonderful feel of skin-on-skin contact. He positioned himself over her, pushing at her legs and hooking them behind his back, and she moaned as he slid into her.

They both shuddered, from emotion or relief, it was difficult to tell, but she wrapped herself up in him, decidedly okay with being on the bottom for once. He had already started to move, and she reveled in the waves of sensation flooding her nerves.

As if he could read her mind, he rasped in her ear, "Do you feel _that_?"

"Yes," came her breathy reply.

"That…" He pulled back, hands clutching her head so he could look directly into her eyes. "…is how much I want you."

Some annoying part of her brain delivered the equivalent of an elbow to the ribs: _guess your body's not boring now, then. Maybe cause the rash had a weird effect on him and made him -_

But she pushed it down, cutting it off, and closed her eyes. "Yes. I feel it, love…"

He increased his pace, thrusts short and jerky, and it seemed it would not be long when all of a sudden he stopped.

Clara's eyes flew open as she felt him withdraw. "What are you -?"

He hiked himself up, crawling to the other side of her, an arm snaking round her waist to turn her on her side so she was spooned against him. "I want to touch you," he murmured huskily into her ear. "I want you to feel…_everything_." And she shivered in anticipation, nodding.

He inserted a leg underneath hers so it scissored back over his, opening her up for him to enter her again, one arm firmly hooked round her waist. The other hand held her hip so he could push into her, both of them gasping at the new sensation from the change in angle. She could feel him even more now, buried impossibly deep, and she reached a hand behind to grab at his arse. He responded by shooting a hand down, fingers finding her nub and rubbing there. She cried out at the double sensation, which seemed to spur him on, as he started to move again, each thrust stoking her further and further. Every nerve in her body felt like a live wire, sizzling and hissing, and the thought – just the _thought_ – that he craved her like this, _wanted_ her like this – all of it – with the feel of him inside her, and the feel of his hand, and the feel of his hot breath on her ear…

She shattered, bright and stark and blinding, a million points of light, exploding like a supernova, pieces scattering across the sky, burning and quivering, and she could hear him, feel him following her, a double explosion, his cries a companion to hers. And he was shuddering behind her, into her, and she with him, feeling him ride out his waves of ecstasy.

She was still shivering, trembling, her shoulders heaving, and she found she couldn't stop. It was like her body was on overdrive, the floodgates open. Curling into herself, her head dropped into her hands as deep sobs wracked her body.

He withdrew immediately, a tentative hand touching her shoulder. "Darling…?"

She rolled over, burying her head in his chest, whitecaps of emotion hitting her, knocking her back again and again.

"Sweetheart…" he murmured, fingers stroking her hair. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, at a momentary loss for words as she struggled to catch herself up with her body. Finally, she was able to eke out a word. "I'm…" she started, her thoughts coalescing. "I'm _alive_."


	5. The Way That I Do

**Author's Note: **Just wanted to say a thank you again to those who decided to try out this sequel. There will be an epilogue after this with a far different tone that wraps everything up and ties everything together, but – it's not _entirely_ necessary you read it if you like this ending. I've loved hearing from those of you who've left me feedback - I do love feedback so if you feel something, think something, have any thoughts/comments/accusations (okay, I haven't been Moffat-like this time :-p) – I always love to hear it. : )

_Loving you the way that I do  
There's nothing I can do about it  
Loving may be all you can give  
But darling, I can't live without it  
_

* * *

Normally, such an obvious statement would render a _Well, of course you're alive!_, but he just whimpered, locking his arms around her. "Yes…yes, you are."

The almost reverent way he said it made her cling to him more tightly. "I shouldn't be, should I?"

They had been together long enough now that she knew what it felt like when he didn't want to answer a question. She could almost hear how he was warring with himself. "No," he finally admitted, his voice no more than a breath.

Nodding, she took this in, trying to focus on the comforting thrumming of his hearts. "How close was I?"

She felt the force of his exhale in her hair and the slight tremble as he inhaled. "Five seconds more, and it would've been too -" He broke off, swallowing. "Maybe less. You'd…stopped breathing. And your heart had stopped – or at least your pulse was too faint to register."

"I went somewhere, I think," she began, grappling with the memory she had seen. "It wasn't like - my life flashing before my eyes or anything like that – y'know, the stuff you hear people say, but…I saw something – like I was in a memory. It was weird."

"Hmm - that was probably an effect of the toxin on your brain – it starts with paralysis of the body but then numbs the mind, acting like a sedative. Easier for the Ruxxwashi to begin the digestion process if the prey isn't thinking of escape."

Clara grimaced, though she had to concede. "Makes sense. It was a nice memory, so I wouldn't really have been paying attention to anything else." She smiled through her sniffles. "That time I surprised you in the console room a few days after…after New York."

But he didn't seem to mind her breaking of their rule twice in a row, chuckling in response. "Ah, yes. When you kept asking about whether the TARDIS would go explodey-wodey. I was afraid she would, just to spite you."

Clara let out a snicker, then became thoughtful again. "She tried to warm me when you went to get me a towel. She's never done that. Tried to help me like that."

"Yes, well, she can sense life – and…death. But I suppose it was one of those miracles because…" He was quiet for a moment as he squeezed her to his chest. "There wasn't a cure, Clara."

"What?" She raised her head.

"It doesn't exist. There were – folk legends about applying things like green tea and extract of figs directly to the skin, but –"

"Wait - green tea and fig?"

"Yes."

She smiled slowly, shaking her head. "It wasn't a miracle, Doctor – didn't you read the labels?"

"The what?"

"On my body wash – and my face soap." She raised her eyebrows, eyes twinkling.

He let out an affronted snort. "Read the labels? I was _busy_ – trying to work out a cure for an evolved plant toxin that had managed to wipe out an entire planet in less than a century, whilst you lay dying in my arms – _no, _I didn't read the l-…" He trailed off, mouth frozen in the midst of his word.

Clara just smirked at him, thoroughly enjoying those rare moments when she arrived first.

He eventually smirked back, shaking his head. "Ha. Green tea and fig?"

She laid her cheek on his chest. "Remind me to thank my mate Marcy for dragging me to that bath and body party her boyfriend's sister was throwing. Who's actually really nice. The sister – not the boyfriend." She wrinkled her nose. "He's a complete git. But I bought the Green Tea & Fig cause the other ones smelled too strong."

He chuckled, fingers playing absentmindedly with her hair. "I'll probably want to thank her, too."

She snuggled into him, and he hugged her tight. Arm splayed across his chest, the contrast between his alabaster skin and her speckled skin was almost comical. "There weren't any folk legends about something that removed this rash, were there?"

"No. Why – does it hurt?"

"No, no – nothing like that. It just looks…well." She raised her head, eyeing him. "Guess it was good for something, though." A corner of her mouth turned up at him.

He smiled, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Yes. It let us know you were cured."

"Well, yeah, that and…it – y'know, spiced things up a bit." She smiled awkwardly.

"Eh?"

"It's fine, really," she barreled on, anxious to be done with the conversation. "Whatever works, right?"

This time his blank look did not indicate his brain flying but rather of it grinding to a halt. "Umm…right. This is one of those times when you're talking about something, but you're not saying what it is."

She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm saying that…okay." She looked him square in the face. "That sex was bloody amazing, like…on a different planet amazing. So you think, 'What's changed?' and –" She nodded towards herself. "-it's me. I look – different. So clearly, you…like that. Which is fine! I mean, like I said – whatever works." Her voice had slid up into a register just a notch below squeaky.

He was looking at her like she'd just babbled something even the TARDIS couldn't translate. "You…think I _like_…that?" He glanced down at the spots on her arms.

"Don't you?"

His mouth worked like he was fighting a smile, or perhaps an outright burst of laughter. He couldn't look at her for several seconds. "I can have…_odd_ tastes, I suppose, and certain species definitely go for spots, but…" He was losing his battle, when all of a sudden his expression changed. "Ohh. This is about that comment you made before, isn't it? That you think I'm bored?" He bopped her on the nose.

A blush heated her cheeks, and she could only steal a glance in his direction before burrowing her head in his chest again. "Maybe…?"

He sighed. "I suppose I have been holding back a bit. Letting you initiate everything. But it's not because I'm _bored_, it's…because I thought it'd be easier this way."

"Easier?"

"Yes." He shifted, or maybe that was the start of a fidget. "I didn't want you to feel overwhelmed like you did…before."

She propped her head up on an elbow. "Before – when?"

"In New York."

"Oh…" She had to take a moment to come up with anything else to say as she moved past her shock that he was purposely breaking their rule. No – more like crashing through the self-imposed barriers, referring to _anything_ he'd done as John. "When was I overwhelmed?"

"You always seemed overwhelmed by my…advances." Yes, that was definitely a fidget.

"Um, okay." Clara shifted positions, antsy at the prospect of exploring such unchartered territory between them and the requisite off-limits words that entailed. "But you were human, with all those hormones, like you said – and…we weren't even married then. And I loved you, but then I loved J -…the human you and…" Maybe this was another reason why they never talked about it: it was too bloody complex to really have an intelligent conversation about. "It was really complicated," she finished lamely.

"Not all of it was complicated." His retort had an edge to it as he stared up at her bedroom ceiling. "Some of it was quite simple."

Clara frowned. "Okay, so…this is one of those times where _you're_ talking about something but not saying what it is."

"You set rules – rules that I didn't follow." He still wouldn't look at her.

She scrunched her face as she searched her memory. "Rules about…?"

"Touching. Well…intimacy." Usually conversations on this subject led to an impressive amount of squirming and flailing, yet he was eerily still. "Not that I thought they applied to us now, of course, but …I didn't want to cross a line. Again."

She shook her head, lost. "You never crossed a line –"

"Yes, I did." His reply was sharp. "That time in the kitchen, or – afterwards, anyway."

"Ohh…" Clara breathed out a long sigh as she flopped onto her back, her mind racing. Or maybe this was why they never discussed it. More than the silences and his mood swings, more than killing that alien policeman in front of her - he'd managed to hit upon the one time she had done her best to forget. That she hadn't even allowed herself to think about during the last few months. "Well, that was different," she said quietly.

"Different," he repeated and his laugh was bitter. "I suppose that's one word for it."

She turned onto her side, studying his profile. His mouth had become a thin line, set against a clenched jaw. The tension vibrating off of him warned her not to touch, so she made her voice as soothing as possible, a vocal caress that shook with conviction. "Love…you would _never_ have hurt me."

He slowly turned his head towards her, his expression unlike anything she'd ever seen. "I genuinely don't know."

"Well, _I_ do," she insisted, reaching for him, but he evaded her, unreachable in his cloak of self-loathing. "Hey – look at me." She raised herself up so he'd have no choice, invading his field of vision. His gaze reluctantly slid her way. "You can't blame yourself for a knee-jerk reaction that lasted less than a second. And that happened – _months_ ago."

"It lasted longer than a second."

"Okay…but you hit the wall – not me. And okay, yeah – it scared me," she acknowledged, remembering how she'd literally jumped back. "But that's only cause I wasn't expecting it. And then, yeah, you…yelled at me. Shouted right up in my face, and no, that wasn't fun, either, but – there was a lot going on. And we'd been _seconds_ from shagging on the kitchen counter before I knocked that soufflé onto the floor."

He chortled mirthlessly and then passed a hand over his face. "Ah yes," he said slowly. "I accumulated quite the list of things to be proud of that evening, didn't I?"

"Doctor, you can't –"

"But I actually wasn't referring to that. I was referring to how I…didn't listen." His mouth worked like it was fighting something.

"To what?"

"To you." His gaze was piercing, flinty. "You were saying no, Clara – you said it several times in several different ways. You even tried to…get away from me. But I didn't let you." If it was possible, his eyes hardened even more. "I wanted…what _I_ wanted. And that was more important than you."

Now it was Clara's turn to shift, possibly needing to fidget herself for all his stillness. "You stopped eventually," she mumbled.

"Yes, I did - after you said no for the fifth time. And my first instinct was to strike you for it."

She couldn't help flinching at the way he emphasised "strike," as if he wished her to feel the impact of hearing it said aloud. "But you didn't."

His smile was brittle. "No – I punched something else instead. But it still terrified you, and then I shouted at you – both methods of intimidation and control. All for saying no to me."

Fidgeting was no longer enough as she hastily slid up, arms hugging herself. Anxiously tapping her sides, she replayed the incident in her head from this new perspective. The different picture it represented was enough to make her heart pound: it was far uglier than she'd ever allowed herself to think.

"As you know…" His voice sounded off to her left, hushed. "…I've given plenty of creatures reason to fear me, where even hearing my name was enough to – to turn an army around. But seeing – someone; not just someone, seeing…_you_ – cower in fear of me, actually…tremble, shake – I remember how you were shaking..." He trailed off, as if overcome by the memory, unable to go on.

Arms locked around herself, she had to take a steadying breath as she remembered, too. And how she'd stayed on the ground in that same position for a long time after he'd left, rocking herself as she prayed for the Doctor's return.

"And for no other reason than you weren't giving me _what I_ _wanted_."

But now she'd heard enough. "Okay…okay." This would _not_ introduce yet another wedge between them. She turned back to him. "So say it, then."

"Say what? There's nothing to say."

"You're wrong." Her voice was quiet. "You – didn't listen; you did things that scared me…so what are you going to say?"

He regarded her like she was mad before shaking his head dismissively. "Saying sorry won't fix anything."

"You let me be the judge of that. If I'm the one that's wronged, then – I get to dictate the terms, yeah?"

He nodded once, painfully. "Yes."

"Okay, then – start with that. Then we'll go from there."

He raised himself to a seated position, facing her with muscles taut. "I'm…" It took him ages to finally meet her eyes, and when he did, they were full. "I'm sorry," he choked, the word "sorry" breaking in half.

She nodded, her face grave. "Okay." It took every ounce of self-restraint not to reach for him. "So if you tried to initiate something now and I said no, would you listen? Would you stop?"

"Yes." His expression was resolute. "Absolutely yes, I promise. Of course I would." He looked at her pleadingly.

"Okay, then…there we are. I accept that."

The Doctor blinked, uncomprehending. "I don't –"

"Doctor…" She finally reached for his hands, fingers squeezing. "I forgive you."

A tear slipped down onto his cheek as he shook his head, eyes wide.

So she grasped his head between her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Love…I _forgive _you." She pushed a few strands of hair off his forehead. "So please forgive yourself."

His lip quivered as another tear streaked down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as though she hadn't heard him the first time. Bowing his head, he shook it again. "I'm so sorry…"

Clara kept her hold on his head, bringing it to her chest and laying it there. She stroked it, holding him while he cried. "I know, love. I know," she murmured, when he continued to apologise over and over again, professing several times how he would take it all back if he could. And she had a feeling he was apologising for more than just that one evening during their time together in New York.

All this time, she'd attributed his avoidance of New York and talking about John Smith to envy; that he somehow yearned for those days when he was human and any mention of it would cause him grief at what he could no longer have. Or what he could no longer give her. And yet it had never been envy. She should've known – should've _seen,_ connected how he'd avoided her the same way he'd avoided talking about John Smith. And yet she assumed they were independent of each other; one borne from envy; the other borne from…well, being alien. God, she was slow. This was _the Doctor_ . The Doctor, with his giant, alien brain who could see connections everywhere. It was his specialty to make connections others never anticipated; why would matters of his hearts be any different?

New York, John Smith, sex – and her. It was startlingly clear now how they were all intertwined for him. And that the only thing he'd felt had been a near paralysing shame.

Finally, he raised his head, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand. Clara kissed each cheek, tasting the residual salt, before pressing a kiss to his lips. He returned it, kissing her tenderly, then gathered her to him again, holding her tightly.

"So…this is why we've never really talked about New York, then."

He sighed loudly, then went quiet for a minute. "Yes. I suppose it is."

"Okay. But now that we've talked about it, do you think maybe things could be different between us? I mean – will you be able to – initiate again?"

She felt him stiffen. "I don't know," he admitted.

She drew back. "Hey – all you need to do is listen if you try something and I say no. Which, at this point, _might_ happen about 1% of the time. But love – hey…" He was avoiding her gaze again, and she called his attention back to her face. "You can't keep avoiding me like I'm covered in some angry, red rash. It's not going to work between us if you do."

A corner of his mouth turned up. "According to you, I _like_ you covered in red spots."

She pushed at his shoulder playfully. "Oh, shut up! But see? That's how bad it is! I actually thought a rash turned you on, and I was – willing to work with it."

He snickered, then cupped her arm in his palms, peering down at it with a forensic eye. "You realise it could've been worse – you could have met with a Lalonthey and currently be covered in green spots instead. And red has always been my favourite colour on you."

She tugged at her arm, rolling her eyes. "Doctor –"

"Honestly, you do look absolutely _smashing_ in red –"

"Oi!" She lightly swatted him on his shoulder, successfully extricating her arm. "I'm serious about this."

His thoughts visibly churned for a minute. "What if…I don't know how?"

"Well…there are lots of ways to show it. You don't have to – _attack_ me. It can be a – y'know – a look. Or a certain kind of smile. Or a different type of kiss, like the way you kissed me before that _unbelievable _sex." She smiled, a hint of heat returning at just the thought of it.

His eyes found hers again, mirroring them. "You do know why, of course."

Though there was no longer that tension, the heaviness of the topic hadn't disappeared and it made her squirm a bit. "Why it was like that? Yeah, though…I don't really understand. I mean – I've come close to death so many times I lost count."

"Yes, but…not like this."

They locked eyes a moment as he echoed her words from earlier, a mix of desperation and relief on his face.

"Well…" She let out a forceful sigh. "Other than almost dying or…okay, actually sort of dying for a second maybe, there needs to be some other way to –"

"How about numbers?"

"Sorry?"

He wrung his hands. "I don't do – looks, really or – smiles. I don't really communicate in that way."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, you do! You give me looks and smiles _all_ the time – have done since I met you." She smirked at him, folding her arms.

His hands were starting to move about him. "I know I _can_ give them, but – for something with a definite purpose, for communicating intent, I'd prefer something…concrete. Something that doesn't permit misinterpretation – and that allows plenty of room for rejection. Even if it's only 1% of the time as you say," he added as she started to open her mouth to protest.

"Yeah, but - numbers?"

"You had me do that process of elimination, numbering my thoughts – what if I named a number – one of my numbered thoughts corresponding to something I'd like to do…with you?"

Clara considered this, trying not to look too sceptical at this entirely _unsexy_ suggestion. "So…I might walk into the TARDIS one Wednesday, and you could just say –"

"Twenty-seven," he uttered, pitching his voice low.

Her mouth dropped open at the spine-tingling, very _clear _intent behind one measly number. Then her eyebrows shot up. "Twenty-seven? Last time it was only up to fifteen."

He smirked devilishly at her. "Yes, well - you caught me by surprise the last time."

She hummed her approval. "How far up does it go then?"

Chuckling again, he leaned back on the bed, smirk turning into an evil grin. "That's for me to know," he said cryptically.

She narrowed her eyes, flopping down next to him. "Thinking of any of them right now?"

"I'm always thinking of them when you're in the room." He trailed the backs of his fingers down the curve of her shoulder. "And the list definitely goes up when you're naked…"

"Hmm…" She rolled onto her side, fingertips trailing over his chest. "Any that you'd care to show me –" Suddenly she yawned loudly, jaw unhinging wide. "…now?" She finished feebly.

The grin melted instantly into a sympathetic smile. "Perhaps not right now."

She whined, though she couldn't manage too much volume.

"You've had a long day, darling – you should rest." He kissed her gently, silencing her faint noises of protest.

"Okay." She pouted at him. "Will the list still be intact?"

"It never went away." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his touch tender. "And I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

"I know." She smiled sleepily at him. "I love you. So much."

He looked at her adoringly, then responded in a string of Gallifreyan that continued as she cosied into his chest.

Yawning again, she waved a hand. "I always mix up the word for 'stain' and 'esteem' – so it sounds like 'I stain you.'"

The Doctor guffawed. "It may be archaic and stodgy, but you _definitely_ don't want to mistake those two words."

Normally, she would've asked him to clarify, but his chest was _so _comfortable. "Right, but what does it mean again?"

Pulling up the bedspread, he draped it over them. "There isn't an exact translation, but it's closest to something like 'I esteem and respect you above all others. You are my equal and my likeness. You are the beginning and the end of all things for me and though I would exist without you, it would not be called living. While I am One by myself, you make me Whole."

Clara nodded, her eyes fluttering shut. "It's beautiful – really lovely. I can see why you prefer it to English."

The Doctor huffed, kissing the top of her head. "But…?"

She smiled at how well he knew her. "I dunno. I just – I wish there was something you could say in English when I say it like – 'same' or…something."

"'Same'?"

"Maybe not that, just…something." Words were getting hard. "'Me too'? Dunno…"

"Hmm." His fingers caressed her head soothingly. "How about…"

But she was already asleep.


	6. Epilogue - More Than You'll Ever Know

**Author's Note: **Wellll, here it is at last. I don't even know if this could be called an epilogue, it's so _long_ – but…I had a lot of stuff I wanted to have happen in here. I'd say it could be standalone, except it really ties everything up from the previous chapters. Anyway…thanks to all who've hung on. I'm aware this story wasn't nearly as exciting as its predecessor, but to the few of you who've left me feedback – I appreciate it so much. This is also the end of this AU for me, so – enjoy! : )

* * *

"But I really can't come with you?"

Clara glanced at him in the mirror as she put the finishing touches on her makeup. "I told you – it's a girls' night. Marcy got dumped again and it'll probably just be a whole evening of all the reasons men are evil and should die." She snapped her compact shut, sighing. "At least, that's how it was the last time Jim dumped her."

The Doctor was trying not to pace, but failing somewhat miserably. "But – I can be one of the girls! I can talk all about the evils of men!"

She smirked at him. "Then she'll just think you're gay."

He scoffed at this, muttering how no one could _ever_ mistake him for gay. Then he grew quiet, and far too still for her liking.

"Are you…ashamed of me?"

The brush caught mid stroke, leaving clumps on her lashes. "What?" She hastily screwed the mascara brush in and turned around. "What makes you say that?"

His foot scuffed at something invisible on her rug. "Well… I haven't met any of your friends. Or your dad."

"No, I –" She spun back around, grabbing the lash comb and going to work on the clumps. "It's not _that _– it's – well…no one knows about you yet. I haven't found a way to tell them you even exist – let alone that we're married." _And do you leave the part out about alien or not?_ "I mean, I'll have to come up with a story that at least makes _some_ sense for how we met, and – I just haven't figured that out yet."

He looked thoughtful. "Because of the wibbly wobbly bits or the timey wimey ones?"

Clara made a face. "All of it.

He wrung his hands. "Is that why you took off your ring?"

"Doctor…" Catching his eye in the mirror, she grasped her TARDIS key between thumb and forefinger, the diamond-like gem in its centre sparkling and shimmering in the artificial light. "Didn't take this off. This is my _real_ wedding ring." She smiled at him, her eyes shining like they always did whenever she thought of that day. He finally returned the smile.

"We've gotta go." She brushed past him, picking up her purse from her bed and throwing in a few last-minute items.

He swayed on the balls of his feet. "Actually, Mr. Maitland popped out for a bit while you were in the shower, and Artie was asking about his maths. So I was going to stay and help him."

"Oh – okay. Well, in that case – see you tomorrow, then?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yes, absolutely. Tomorrow."

She squinted at him. "And tomorrow is…?"

"Tomorrow is…tomorrow is – Monday."

"Friday."

"Right – tomorrow is Friday. Friday – I knew that."

She snickered. "'Course you did." Glancing at her watch, she groaned at the time. "Why is it that now that I have a time machine, I'm always late?" Throwing her jacket over her arm, she blew him a kiss. "Bye. Love you."

He flailed for a bit. "Um – me, too!" He answered, then winced.

Clara pulled a face. "Uh –"

"No."

"Definitely not."

"An improvement on 'same,' though, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Getting there, I guess." She gave him a little wave as she closed the door. Honestly, she didn't need to hear the words: she knew, of course.

Unwittingly, an image flashed into her head of John on his knees before her, uttering those words that came straight from the Doctor's heart:

_I love you more than my own human existence._

It wasn't cheating when the man you thought of was the one you were married to…even if it was the human version of him that had died. Right?

Wibbly wobbly, indeed.

* * *

"She's cheating, you know!"

Clara's eyes widened. "Who?"

"His new skank – _she's_ already got a boyfriend!" Marcy stabbed angrily at one of the olives – or at least tried to, somehow missing it the first few times.

"That's his problem; not yours, love." Sharon swirled the remnants of her drink in her highball, the ice cubes clinking together. "'Sides – he's a wanker. Match made in heaven, if you ask me."

"Exactly – let her have him and good riddance!" Clara added, raising her martini glass in salute.

Marcy's head dropped onto her hands, ginger hair curtaining her face. "Why won't anyone look at me?" she whined, glancing forlornly about. "I just want a good shag, y'know? Something to get me mind off of Jim. I'd even take a snog at this point."

"No one wants to snog you when you've got snot running down your face – now get it together, love." Sharon gently prodded, handing Marcy a cocktail napkin.

Clara reached her hand across Sharon, grasping Marcy's arm as she dabbed at her eyes. "Hey – if any of the guys in here don't want you – then you don't want them, either, okay?"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're too bloody nice. You really know what your problem is?"

Clara shook her head at Sharon. "Oh, don't start – c'mon…"

Sharon turned to Marcy, setting her glass down. "You like arseholes. You always have, ever since we were kids. Remember that skinny bloke Mum told you to stay away from after he went for the dog? And who did you go for?"

Marcy folded her arms defensively. "Don't remember Mum saying anything, but I do remember _you_ beating the shit out of him when all he wanted to do was walk me home from school. 'Cause _you _always knew better, didn't you?"

Clara hid her head in her fist, giving her the opportunity to look at the people on the other end of the bar to her left. There was one guy looking their way, doing the quick glance back and forth. She waved a hand in Sharon's direction, cutting them off mid-squabble. "Hey! Shut it, you two – there's a guy looking this way."

Marcy immediately sat up straighter, flipping her limp hair over her shoulder. "Who's he looking at?"

Sharon stared unabashedly for a few seconds before shrugging. "Can't tell. One of us anyway."

Marcy shoved her older sister in the arm. "Oi, he's probably looking at you – you're wearing your boob shirt!"

Clara raised an eyebrow at her friend. "Does Ollie know you're wearing that tonight?"

"Are you kidding? It's Ollie's favourite shirt." She glanced apologetically at Marcy. "Sorry, love – his red pants got into the whites again, dyed that new white shirt pink. Had to find something right quick."

"Again?" Clara laughed. "Seriously, how many times has he done that?"

Sharon raised her glass. "To the joys of married life. It's not all hearts and flowers and romantic candlelit dinners, loves. It's knowing how to forgive the poor sod after he's ruined your new shirt." She downed the contents. "Not as easy as it looks."

_Tell me about it._ Clara nodded, trying to look like she was listening to her older friend's wisdom and not actually agreeing with her wholeheartedly.

"Believe me – you'll miss being single one day. So enjoy it while you still can!" Sharon flagged down a bartender and ordered another drink.

"Not me. I hate being single," Marcy said glumly. "I can't believe I am – I mean – I'm _single_ again! There was a time when I thought I was gonna marry Jim…" She said wistfully, sniffling.

"No, you bloody well didn't, so you can stop with that bollocks right now."

"What, just 'cause _you_ never liked him -"

Sharon snorted. "_No one_ liked him, and _that's_ why you'd never've married him 'cause we wouldn't have let you, you stupid –"

"_Okay_!" Clara waved her hands, cutting both of them off. "Marcy – you're right. We don't know what would've happened – none of us can tell. Maybe you would've married Jim, but the thing is – you didn't. So you know there's got to be someone out there for you. Someone _better_. And you'll find him."

Marcy begrudged a weak smile. "I guess so." She let her head fall into her hand. "Jus' not gonna be at this pub."

"You don't know that!" Clara indicated Sharon. "Hey – she met Ollie at a pub, didn't she? Who's to say the same won't happen for you?" She smiled encouragingly.

"Or for _you_, Clara." Clara had forgotten how Sharon's gaze could penetrate from behind her dark-rimmed glasses. Or maybe they just magnified it. "Maybe you'll meet your future husband here tonight. Since you're so _unusually_ optimistic." She eyed her with a hint of suspicion.

"No – I'm – I'm not looking for anyone. And I _really _doubt that…" She muttered, fiddling with her swizzle stick.

"Why? Cause you like being single?"

"What?" She fumbled. "No, I – I just...I really don't want to date – that's all. I just – don't have time. I'm not interested."

"I think she's afraid of getting hurt," Marcy said.

"Oh, don't be stupid – no, she's not. I think she's –"

"Um – hello? Is this – oh!"

All three women started at the sound of a meek voice coming over a microphone.

"Sorry – sorry. Um – we don't normally do this, but I guess it's a special night." The woman's nervous laughter was squeaky. "So – we've got a dedication to…Clara. This is for Clara, from her – husband. No, sorry – her – _what_?" Her voice faded a bit, as she seemed to be talking to someone next to her. "Her…_doctor_? Right…anyway! Here it is. For Clara!"

Clara wasn't even aware of her reaction until Sharon nudged her.

"Stop looking like that - at least it's not you. Who marries their doctor?!"

"And who dedicates a song in a pub?!" Marcy added.

Clara could only sputter out a "Yeah!" in agreement as she tried to keep her attention on her glass, effectively preventing herself from looking every which way around the pub to find him. It became easier as the first unfamiliar notes sounded, and she had to strain her ears to listen over the din.

_More than you know  
More than you know  
Girl of my heart, I love you so  
Lately I've found you on my mind  
More than you know  
_

Sharon let out a bemused noise. "I feel sorry for her, whoever she is. Married her doctor and then he dedicates a song that's this _old_? Probably married him for the money, then."

"Yeah – and the singer sounds American or something, like he's trying to be posh," Marcy agreed.

Clara couldn't respond due to the lump in her throat for a few moments. "I think it's…from the forties. If I had to guess, I'd probably say 1948."

"What?" Sharon looked at her curiously. "How would you know?"

"Developed an interest a few months ago. There was a… time back in the spring when I only listened to forties music. But I don't know this one."

_Loving you the way that I do  
There's nothing I can do about it  
Loving may be all you can give  
But darling, I can't live without it_

This time she couldn't stop herself from smiling, especially at the "darling," her fingers finding her TARDIS key. She took another sip of her drink to avoid the attention her friends were starting to pay her.

"Aww – are you pretending it's for you? See, I told you – she's just afraid of getting hurt. _I'm_ not afraid of getting hurt."

"Yeah, we know - which is why you keep getting hurt. Oi, Clara? What are you on about, love?"

_Oh, how I'd cry  
How I'd sigh  
If you got tired and said goodbye  
More than I show  
More than you'll ever know_

Clara had to take a few breaths to prevent herself from actually crying in front of her friends, to a song whose era should be unknown to her, dedicated by a man unknown to them. A man who still had the ability to surprise her, even when she least expected –

"Hello!"

Clara whipped her head around to the sound of that familiar, beloved voice and found – yes, the Doctor, standing there, smiling brightly at her and her two friends as though he'd just happened upon them there.

Now that he was standing in front of her, though, she found herself at a complete loss for words, only able to gape at him.

"I'm John Smith!" He informed them cheerily, looking from one to the other. "I saw you sitting over here, and I thought you looked –"

"Single?" Marcy hinted.

"Yes! Single!" He nodded emphatically. "Absolutely – you look very single, all of you."

"Well – I'm not," Sharon responded drily, holding up her hand. "Sorry, mate."

"Ah! No harm done – but are the rest of you then?" He was looking pointedly at Clara, and she noted he'd removed his wedding ring as well.

"I am!" Marcy gave a flirtatious little wave, which made Clara's jaw clench. "I'm Marcy," she added, winking rather obviously.

But the Doctor didn't return it. Instead, he brightened even more. "Marcy!" Clara could see he was reaching for her shoulders to do his kiss-kiss thing, and given Marcy's state and her aforementioned desire for snogging and shagging, well - that snapped her into action.

Leaning over Sharon, she extended her hand out. "I'm Clara," she said, poised for a shake.

He stopped before his hands could touch Marcy's shoulders, then turned towards her. "Ah. Clara." He grasped her hand, squeezing it a moment before taking the hint and shaking it.

She poured every emotion she could into her eyes. "Really, _really_ nice to meet you, John," she said furtively. "Really."

He smiled at her softly. "The pleasure is mine. Clara."

Marcy was fuming, and she cleared her throat loudly.

The Doctor spun towards her. "Sorry! Yes, Marcy – it's _very_ nice to meet you, too!" He shook her hand vigorously, beaming at her. This seemed to be enough to soften her, gazing at him dreamily as he moved to Sharon. "I'm John!" He informed her again.

"I know," she deadpanned. "I'm Sharon." She shook his hand perfunctorily.

"Excellent! Now that we've all been acquainted – Marcy!" He rubbed his hands together, turning to her. "Marcy, a little bird told me or…maybe it was a cat – was it a cat?" He scratched his temple. "Hmm – difficult to remember what the proper phrase is nowadays…"

The dreamy look drained right off Marcy's face. "What?"

"Sorry! Anyway – the point is I heard that you were feeling sad."

Marcy's mouth dropped open. "Who told you that? Are you a mate of Jim's?"

"Oh yes! I'm a mate of –"

Clara coughed loudly, shaking her head just the tiniest bit when he glanced over.

"No! No, no – definitely not. Not a mate of Jim's – I'm a mate of Jim…bo's Jimbo. Jimbo and me – we're very good mates."

"Who the hell is _Jimbo_?" Marcy demanded, not a trace of dreamy smile left to speak of.

The Doctor's hands flailed for a bit. "Jimbo is Jim's…cousin's brother's flatmate."

"His what?"

"Jimbo! Anyway – I was just wondering – if you'd like to dance?"

Marcy screwed up her face. "Here? In a…_pub_?"

The Doctor started. "Oh!" He looked around as if noticing his location for the first time, then leaned in, his thumbs worrying his fingers. "Do people not dance in pubs?"

"Don't know about people, but I don't." Marcy leaned away from him, as though to ward off his strange disease of pub-dancing.

"Hmm. Well, that's rubbish – no dancing in a pub. Who made that rule anyway? Doesn't matter, though because rules are made to be broken, eh? I'll dance anywhere!" He made some sort of motion with his arms that vaguely recalled the disco era, spinning about in place.

"Ohh." Marcy visibly deflated. "I get it now – of course!" She looked him mournfully up and down. "Even if you are a bit mad, you're definitely _gorgeous_ – but with that dress sense…" She sighed dramatically. "You're gay."

Clara had to bite her lip to hide her snort.

The Doctor was frowning. "I'm not gay! You think someone's gay just because he likes to dance in pubs and wears –" He looked down at his outfit. "- _sensible_ clothes?" He straightened his bowtie, puffing out his chest a bit.

"I'm gonna do something completely wild and agree with Marcy on this one, mate," Sharon nodded at him. "There's something off about you. I'm pretty clever when it comes to the vibe – and you've _definitely_ got a vibe."

Marcy nodded. "See? Sharon's got the best gay-dar of anyone." She tilted her head at him in obvious pity. "Nice try, though."

Clara had to duck her head now to keep from outright laughing, especially at the utterly gobsmacked look on the Doctor's face.

"I'm not gay, seriously. Look, I'll - I'll – I'll prove it. I'll kiss you!" He hurriedly offered to Marcy, smiling at his wonderful idea.

"_What_?"

"You'll _what_?"

Both Clara and Marcy responded, Marcy recoiling a bit and Clara leaning forward, mouth open.

The Doctor's eyes went wide, catching Clara's. "With – with – your friends' _permission_, of course – I don't kiss without obtaining everyone's permission." He glanced at her sheepishly.

Clara was one notch away from a proper _look_, and opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by Sharon.

"Fine by me, mate." She waved a hand dismissively. "If you feel the need to assert your masculinity by kissing Marcy, be my guest."

"Well, it's not fine by _me_!" Marcy squeaked. "I don't want to be your – your way of feeling all masculine or just 'cause you're uncomfortable with who you are, you've got to go around kissing random girls in pubs."

"Says the girl who was just _dying_ for someone to snog ten minutes ago," Sharon reminded her.

Marcy huffed. "Yeah, but – not just _anyone_. I wanna make sure he's straight, so – y'know – there's at least a _chance_…" She grumbled the rest into her drink.

Sharon raised an eyebrow at the Doctor. "Well, John – you might actually have been the cause of two unprecedented events in one evening. You just raised Marcy's standards." She was eyeing him like a scientist eyes a new specimen. "There's definitely something about you…"

The Doctor looked flummoxed. "Um…okay. But – so that means you don't want to dance, then?" He asked, looking positively crestfallen.

"I'll kiss you," Clara offered, hoping that she didn't sound too eager.

The Doctor caught her eye, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Ah! Well…" He shuffled slowly over to her. "If I have your friends' _permission_?" He asked, addressing the ladies to his right.

Sharon narrowed her eyes at him. "Hmm. It can't just be a kiss – any gay bloke can fake that. It's gotta be a good and proper snog. I'll be able to tell whether or not it's fake if it lasts longer."

"Yeah," Marcy agreed, folding her arms. "And that means it needs to last at least ten seconds."

Clara raised her eyebrows at him, fighting another smile. "Well…_John_. Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."

His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Indeed it does." He walked right up into her space. "So – _Clara_ – apparently I have to snog you for at least ten seconds so Marcy will dance with me. Do I have your permission to do that?" He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, pushing slightly into her knees.

"Yes, you have my permission." Raising a coquettish eyebrow at him, she parted her knees just enough so he'd see without drawing her friends' attention. "And if you have to prove you're not gay, then you also have my _permission_ to hold nothing back."

"Hmm…" His hands stole up to her face as he leaned in. "For some reason, all I can think of right now are numbers…"

Her thrilled giggle was cut off as his lips caught hers. They both immediately sighed into the other's mouth, tongues colliding. It escalated quickly, his arms winding round her waist, pulling her against him, whilst hers grabbed the nape of his neck, using it as leverage to nearly lift herself off her stool, melding herself with him. But he pushed back, and she conceded, parting her knees even more to allow him better access. Some small part of her brain clued her in to two things as she hooked her legs at his waist. One: she should probably not be doing this in public, much less in front of her friends. Two: they hadn't kissed from this angle since the infamous soufflé incident, and Clara would ensure that at _some_ point, that they'd finish what they started…

They might well have, friends, pub, and public be damned if it weren't for the booming "Oi! That's enough, now – get a room, you two!" from behind the bar, which broke them apart, both straightening themselves and fixing their hair. Clara finally noticed Marcy and Sharon, both gawking wide-eyed, Marcy a little comically so.

Sharon spoke first. "Well…you certainly proved me wrong, John. Guess there's a first time for everything though, innit?"

Marcy looked like she might've forgotten how to shut her mouth properly as the Doctor strode over to her again, his step light.

"So, Marcy…how about that dance?"

She nodded at him as though in slow motion. "Uh…okay," she managed. Still looking stunned, she let the Doctor grab her hand as he led her away from the bar to an area about twenty feet off.

Clara tried to pretend she didn't notice Sharon's laser-like attention on her, spinning to observe the scene that was sure to provide some measure of entertainment in a few moments.

"_Well_…_" _Sharon began.

Clara ignored her, giggling as the music started and the Doctor's limbs were set free with a gleeful abandon. The brightness of his smile was a comical contrast to the look of utter horror on Marcy's face.

"He's _completely_ mad," Sharon remarked, sounding almost impressed. "But doesn't seem to matter for you, love, does it?"

"What?"

"Oh, c'mon – the way you've been looking at him since he first showed up here – and the way you just went at it with him like you were ready to shag him on the bar?"

Clara ducked her head, her cheeks reddening, smile playing over her lips.

"And it's not just that – it's the way he looked at you, too."

Sharon had her full attention now. "What do you mean by that?"

Sharon grew thoughtful for a moment, studying her empty glass. "It's the way Ollie used to look at me," she said quietly. "Still does sometimes, of course – it hasn't all gone away." She looked up at Clara, her features softened. "It's like – you could place every woman in front of him on the planet, and he still wouldn't stop looking at you." Shaking her head, she smiled. "Imagine that, eh? Three _billion_ women in front of him. And he'd still be craning his head to get a glimpse of you."

For the second time that evening, Clara found an unexpected lump in her throat.

"Normally, I'd tell you to be careful – especially 'cause it involves my baby sister."

Clara nodded. "I know."

Sharon heaved a great sigh. "But…he's kind. And Marcy doesn't go for kind. She goes for wanker, arse, git and bastard, but not kind." She motioned with her glass at how Marcy had finally seemed to let loose a little, smiling and laughing as the Doctor spun her around. "Even if he's finally got her enjoying herself, she'll find something wrong with him, believe me. She always does," she said resignedly.

"She'll find someone, Sharon. She just needs to…"

"Get a lobotomy?" She sounded like she was only half-joking.

"I was thinking – maybe focus on herself more. Stop focusing on finding the next one, you know?"

Sharon smirked at her. "'Cause they seem to drop out of the sky unexpected when you do that, don't they?"

Clara's eyes widened. "What?"

"Oh, c'mon, you've got to admit, love – he looks like he stepped off the pages of a Victorian novel. Like he forgot what century he was in when he got himself dressed this morning, or…he's actually from a different time period or…something." She shook her head again. "Like I said – something very _off_ about that one…"

Clara couldn't help snickering her agreement.

The Doctor and Marcy returned, both rosy-cheeked and breathing fast. Marcy was laughing.

"You…are…_bonkers_!" She cried, pushing at the Doctor's chest. "I mean seriously – who dances like that?! You're terrible!" She hopped into her seat, taking a large swig of her drink before smacking it down on the bar. "You are properly _embarrassing_!"

The Doctor laid his jacket over a nearby stool, going to work on his shirtsleeves. "Well…I suppose I've never heard anything different."

Marcy continued to giggle as she swiveled on her stool, and Clara couldn't help smiling at how much her spirits seemed to have improved.

The Doctor walked over to Marcy again. "So, Marcy – I think this is where I ask for your phone number."

Marcy stopped mid-swivel, her face falling. "Oh, um…thanks, John, I'm uh – I'm really flattered, but…" Laughing nervously, she tucked her hair behind her ear. "I just really don't think you're my type. Sorry." She gave an apologetic smile.

Sharon glanced pointedly at Clara and they shared a look.

"You can have mine," Clara offered.

"Oh!" The Doctor swaggered over to her. "Can I?" His mouth worked like it was fighting a grin.

"Yep."

"Okay, then," he agreed, reaching into his pocket and feeling around for a moment. "But – you should know – _Clara_ – that I won't actually call you because I prefer to text."

Clara was very successful in keeping a straight face. "Okay."

He withdrew his mobile, handing it to her and leaning on the bar in the worst imitation of a casual pose she had ever seen. "Yeah. Texting. Because talking on the phone is _so _last century." He scoffed, waving a hand vaguely. "It's so…1912."

Clara raised an eyebrow.

He straightened. "2012. It's so 2012."

Clara gave him a look, handing his phone back to him. "Okay. So text me, then."

"I will." He resumed his horrible imitation of a normal person pose. "And when I do, it will be to ask you out for more texting and…scones."

Her smile was genuine now. "I look forward to it."

The Doctor returned her smile, brightening suddenly. "Ooh! And - maybe I'll take you to an art gallery! We can look at all the pieces, and you can tell me who your favourite artists are - and then we can go meet the ones who have already dii –" He caught himself as her eyes widened. "Dyed – their…paintings. With different colours. And who are most certainly still alive."

Clara didn't hold back her giggle now. "Sounds lovely."

The Doctor pointed his fingers at her in a slightly less awkward gesture than his previous attempts. "So…I'll text you, then."

"You will," she replied, holding his gaze.

The Doctor turned to Sharon and Marcy. "Well! I've got to pop off now – things to do, other pubs to – dance in, but – it was lovely meeting all of you!" He shook Sharon's hand, who regarded him bemusedly.

"It was quite the introduction, John. I expect to see more of you in the future," she added meaningfully.

"Yes! In the future," he repeated her phrase, though it clearly had no meaning to him. He came to Marcy, and grasped her hand. "Marcy –" Suddenly he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her hand. "_Thank you_," he said fervently.

Marcy let out a nervous giggle. "For what?"

The Doctor smiled wide. "For the dance, of course!" He straightened again, casting a glance Clara's way. "And Clara – you'll be hearing from me." His voice had dropped lower, a different kind of look in his eyes.

Clara matched it, her heart speeding up. "I'd better."

"Perhaps sooner than you think."

"I'll be on the lookout, then."

They smirked at each other before the Doctor turned and left.

Clara sighed, though from what, she couldn't be certain as she turned back to the bar, taking a drink.

Marcy didn't take long to descend. "Are you actually going to go _out_ with him?! He's a raving nutter!"

Clara didn't get a chance to respond as Sharon replied for her. "Yeah, he might be a bit mad, but he's kind. And if you'd been paying the _slightest_ bit of attention, you'd have noticed that he looks at Clara like she's the only woman in the world for him."

As if to add to that, Clara's phone beeped. She didn't even have to slide the bar to read the whole text:

_34, 15, 29, 51. See you soon…_

Her eyebrows shot up. Seemed like the numbers kept getting higher and higher…

"Has he already texted you?! See? Who _does _that?! But what'd he say?" Marcy couldn't seem to decide between her shock and her curiosity.

Clara's cheeks burned. "Oh, y'know…just some ideas for the next time we see each other," she said nonchalantly as she finished her drink. "_See you soon?" Cheeky, that one…_

"Oh, well, would you look at that?" Sharon drawled. "Guess who left his jacket?"

Clara glanced down and saw his jacket draped over the stool next to her. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Right – guess I should go give this back to him, then – I mean…if he's still around. If he hasn't left yet."

Sharon snorted. "I'd be surprised if he's not waiting for you outside." She waved her hand at her. "Go get him. We're all right here."

"I'll be back," Clara protested. "Just…in a bit. I might have to look for him."

Sharon shook her head smiling. "Right."

Sharon was right, of course. He was leaning against a streetlight, bent over his mobile.

"Hey!" She sauntered over to him, jacket hugged to her middle.

He held his mobile out to her questioningly. "'_Wife_'?"

She shrugged, lips quirked. "_51_?!"

He let out a low chuckle.

"I wasn't even naked."

"Would it surprise you if I told you that I actually have quite the imagination?"

She stopped in front of him, arms raised. "You forgot something."

The streetlight seemed to magnify the twinkle in his eyes. "Did I? Dear me – so glad someone noticed."

Wordlessly, she unfolded it and placed it round his shoulders, using it as leverage to draw them into a slow, lazy kiss. The promise of so much more to come. "Thank you."

A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows. He could really be so endearingly clueless. "For what?"

She smiled at him like she couldn't believe he existed. "For the song. For meeting my friends. For giving us a believable meeting so I don't have to make something up. For being John Smith again – or – y'know – trying to, at least."

"Oi! I was a good John Smith – I thought I made a very believable human!"

She giggled. He was far too easy a target sometimes. Then her smile softened. "For trying to cheer up Marcy."

He swiveled his head as if weighing the accuracy of her statement. "Don't know how well I succeeded at that one – she didn't seem very impressed by my dancing. But regardless, I…I owed her one."

They gazed at each other in silent understanding of what he meant.

Heart full to bursting, she had to take a breath for the weight of her next statement. "I love you."

This time there was no flailing, no awkward pause. Only a tender smile, a gentle hand running down the side of her face. "Oh, Clara," he murmured. Then his hands on her cheeks, and that look…that look that Sharon had described. Her – the only woman in the world. But it was more than that – she, the beginning and the end of all things for him. Love meant more when you had all of time and space to choose from, and in that moment, she felt it.

But he was learning, wasn't he? Because the next words out of his mouth sealed the concept of _forever_, their eyes shining at each other.

"More than you'll _ever_ know."

*_Fin*_


End file.
